Thin & Thinner, Part 1

On Influencers, Diets, Food, and Me

For the next couple weeks, I’m going to be writing about food, diets, wellness influencers, and my own struggles with weight. This essay is the first part of my reflections. It doesn’t say everything I have to say. More is coming. But it is, I hope, the start of a reflection that will be helpful for you as you navigate this time of year, where everyone is selling you a way to be a “better you”—better, of course, meaning thinner. For now, just keep in mind that today’s essay is my story—or, part of my story. Your experience may very well be different. Or it might not be. Either way, I know conversations about food and diet can be difficult and deeply personal ones, so please know that my words are about how restrictive eating affects me and not necessarily you.

Also, for those of you who prefer listening, the audio version of this essay is embedded at the very bottom of this newsletter. Just scroll down and click play.

Social media is dangerous for me right now. Even after almost 25 years in recovery. Even with a husband who loves how I look. Even with decades of reflecting on the beauty of the feminine body, the theology of the Eucharist, and the meaning of food. Even with all that, Social Media in January is dangerous for a former anorexic like me.

You see, my forties have not been kind to my body. A good diet, temperate eating, and (mostly) regular exercise proved to be no match for extreme stress, a passel of babies that came in quick succession, massive sleep deprivation, and the hormonal havoc of perimenopause. They’ve all taken their toll on me, and it shows in the number on the scale. Every year, for the past seven years, a few more pounds have crept onto my body. And a few more pounds, year after year, add up. They add up to a number that is, by every measure, too high.

Thankfully, the good food and exercise have paid off in the most important ways. I have great blood pressure, a low resting heart rate, and my blood sugar and cholesterol are all well in the target range. I can still walk fast, bend low, and chase runaway preschoolers up and down stairs. I’ll turn 50 this year, and the only prescription drug I’m on is a compounded cream with Estrogen and Progesterone in it. Relatively speaking, I’m doing great.

But I am still overweight. And I don’t like it.

The Internet, of course, has an answer for me. Lots of answers, actually. Which is what makes it such a dangerous place. I can’t imagine being on social media at the height of my eating disorder. I don’t know if I would have survived. The reels, the stories, the slides—all featuring thin and thinner Influencers touting their preferred way to get fit and stay svelte—would have consumed me.

Now, they just tempt me. There are days where I find myself wondering if I should could go Carnivore. Or start eating plant-based. Maybe I should try intermittent fasting. Or carb cycling. There is also the option to go on a massive caloric deprivation diet (and shell out hundreds of dollars to a shady MLM to do so). Or I could just inject myself with Ozempic and watch the pounds melt away (technically, I’m still too thin to qualify for GLP-1s, but we all know there are ways around this).

Again, at different points over the last year, I’ve had moments where I found myself weighing all those options. It would be awfully nice to be a size 4 again. I miss the confidence that being thin gave me, not to mention the ease of shopping for new clothes. All things being equal, I would love to look in the mirror and see my old self once more.

But I’m not going Carnivore. Or Vegan. Or spending money we don’t have on Ozempic. Despite the constant assault of reels and stories offering me a way back to my old body, I’m fighting the temptation they present to me and working on making peace with the Emily I do see when I look in the mirror.

The first reason I’m doing this is because although almost three decades have passed since the number on my scale dipped so low that my hair started falling out, I still remember those days as clearly as I remember last week. More clearly actually. Sickness and sleep deprivation makes last week a little fuzzy. But thirty years ago? That I remember.